


Dancing in the Dark

by Musicangel913



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicangel913/pseuds/Musicangel913
Summary: Two somewhat-linked one shots inspired by a conversation with the Discord crew (& the accompanying adorable piece of art courtesy of Achilles!) Part I takes place somewhere between TCS & TEG, Part II takes place...you'll see. ;) Enjoy! :)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Part I: The Case

“Well, it certainly doesn’t look like anything special,” Lockwood commented as we gazed up at the building before us.

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. It was thoroughly nondescript, virtually identical to all the other business complexes in the area – the only difference between this building and its neighbors was that this one was vacant. The new owners were eager to spruce up the place and rent it to interested parties, but their eagerness had morphed into dread when they’d discovered a Visitor in one of the rooms. That, of course, was where we came in.

“Shall we?” Lockwood fished inside his coat pocket and removed the key, and together, we hauled our things into the small foyer.

We’d arrived a bit before sundown in order to get the lay of the land before our real work began. This case probably wouldn’t be too much trouble – it was one of those minor hauntings ‘approved’ by Fittes and her lackeys – but it was certainly unusual, regardless. You see, we weren’t, in fact, the first team to tackle this building. Three or four other agencies – including, to our amusement, teams from both Rotwell’s _and_ Fittes – had previously tried, and failed, to locate this Visitor’s Source. The Visitor herself wasn’t malicious, but whatever was tethering her to this building was very well hidden indeed. It was in our best interest to canvas the place as thoroughly as possible before the haunting began. 

When last in use, the building had been a dance studio. To our left was a small office area with a reception desk and several filing cabinets. On the wall beside the desk were headshots of the former studio’s teachers. To the right of the entryway was a waiting room furnished with chairs, a coffee table with a few magazines scattered across the top, and what looked like a basket of children’s toys, presumably to keep siblings occupied while classes were going on. There were hooks for coats, and poster-sized photographs of people in fancy costumes decorated the walls, which were painted a cheery yellow.

“Nice place,” I said, taking it all in. I slipped my bag off my shoulders and placed it on one of the chairs, then took a seat on the chair beside it. It was surprisingly comfortable.

“It is,” Lockwood agreed as he too took a seat. “Not getting anything in the way of psychic disturbances, but it’s still early yet. Now, let’s see what George has to say about this one.” He placed his bag on the floor between his feet and withdrew a manila file folder. I could see a page covered in George’s neat print when he flipped it open.

“Let’s see…according to George’s notes, this building was once called Miss Alexandra’s Dance Academy. The founder, one Alexandra Sinclair, first opened its doors over a century ago. It remained a family business until Christine, her last descendant, died a few years ago. Their students came from all over London and the surrounding areas, and many went on to professional careers in well-respected companies all over the world.”

“That tells us a bit about the business, but not much about the ghost,” I said, frowning a little. “Didn’t George get anything from the other agencies’ reports?”

“I’m getting to that,” Lockwood replied. “There’s not much, though. The other teams reported finding the ghost of a woman – a dancer – in the rear righthand studio. She appears, practices her routine, and then is gone. None of them reported much trouble from her, but they couldn’t figure out what or where her Source could be, and she uses so much of the studio while dancing that they couldn’t get any closer. Whenever they tried, she forced them back out.”

“Forced them back out?” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Haven’t the foggiest.”

“There must be something they missed,” I said. “Whatever it is, we’ll find it.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lockwood closed the folder and smiled at me – the infamous megawatt smile at first, but it soon morphed into the softer one, the one that he seemingly saved just for me.

“I’m glad you’re back, you know,” he said. “I missed you, Luce.” I smiled back even as I felt my face flush.

“I missed you, too. It’s good to be back.” And it really was. As terrifying as our trip to Aldbury Castle had been, I couldn’t deny that it had felt so _right_ , working alongside Lockwood and the others again, and sleeping in my little attic room at Portland Row when we’d returned had never made me happier. We’d worked a few minor cases since then, and I was pleased to see that Lockwood had toned down his reckless behavior a bit since my return as well. He was still the first to jump in, but he didn’t seem to have that death wish anymore, and I was glad. My heart dared to hope that he’d perhaps found something worth living for – for now, though, I’d take that special smile whenever I could.

“Shall we?” Lockwood asked as he stood. “We already know where the Visitor should appear, of course, but it can’t hurt to take a look around, just in case the other teams missed something.”

“Well, obviously, they did,” I said with a snort. “Since we’re here, and all.” Lockwood chuckled.

“They really need to work on their standards, don’t they? Let’s get to it.”

We began with the office, although we didn’t find anything of note. The filing cabinets were empty, the labels on them suggesting they’d once contained records for the studio’s many dancers. The desk was similarly devoid of anything interesting. To our delight, there was a little kitchenette in back of the office, presumably where the teachers had stored and heated their lunches, and we were able to get our trusty kettle going. After finding nothing unusual in the waiting room, we proceeded down the hall to explore the studios.

There were four studios, two on each side of the hall, all of them roughly the same size. The front and side walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, which made the studios seem bigger than they actually were, and the floors, though old, looked very well maintained. Ballet barres spanned the width of the side mirrors while the front mirrors were left unadorned, presumably so the dancers could see themselves when working in the middle of the room. Wiring in three of the studios suggested the remnants of some sort of sound system, while the fourth’s seemed to have been removed entirely. All four studios were otherwise empty.

There was no doubt about it that the fourth studio was indeed where we should expect our Visitor to appear. It was much colder than the other three studios, for one thing, and for another, I got the faint hint of some sort of sound when we explored the room, although it was much too early to tell what it was.

“I’ll be able to tell what the sound is when it gets dark, I’m sure,” I said to Lockwood after I’d told him it was there. "Have you got anything?”

“No,” he replied. “Not a death glow in sight – which makes sense, given that no one died here – and no sign of Visitors just yet. This is definitely the room associated with the haunting, though. We didn’t find anything at all anywhere else.”

“Do you think the Source is under the floor?” I wondered.

“I hope not,” Lockwood said. “The other teams’ reports said that the ghost is all over the studio. Be a bit difficult to tear up the floor while avoiding a dancing Visitor.”

“For all we know, the floor could _be_ the Source,” I said. “Or it could be the entire building. If the Visitor is appearing here and not at the site of a death, I think it’s safe to say it’s someone to whom this studio was very important – one of the former owners, perhaps. You said it was in their family the entire time it was in operation.”

“Yes, family businesses do tend to be very important,” Lockwood agreed. “Arif’s is one, did you know? Those donuts are an old family recipe. But anyway, you’re right – we’re probably looking at one of the owners as our resident ghost, so the Source could be anything. We’ll have to keep watch for anything that might give us a clue as to what it might be. For now, though, let’s get settled.”

We spent the remaining time until dark enjoying tea and biscuits, going through our supplies, and making a plan for the rest of the evening. Once it got dark, we would do a cursory check just to be sure, but most of our efforts would be focused on the fourth studio. According to the reports, the haunting consistently began around ten o’clock, so we wouldn’t have too long to wait. We propped open all of the studio doors and created an iron circle in the hall just outside the fourth studio. It was a bit farther away than we would’ve liked, given that the Source could be anywhere in that room, but it was the best we could do at the moment. The reports said that the ghost danced through a large portion of the studio, and we couldn’t really do anything concrete until we saw exactly how that went. For now, the hallway would have to do.

“We’d best get ready,” Lockwood said with a glance at his watch. “It’s almost time.” After one last check to make sure all the lights were off and our belts were sufficiently stocked, we set off down the hallway once more. As we’d expected, we found nothing during our second check of the first three studios. They were slightly cooler now that the sun had gone down, but not enough to warrant our concern. We settled ourselves in the iron circle, our rapiers across our laps, and waited. For several long minutes, all was quiet save the soft sounds of our breathing.

And then I heard it. Soft strains of…something.

“Lockwood,” I whispered. “I can hear something.”

“What is it, Luce?”

“I’m not sure. It sounds like…” I paused and gave my inner ear a moment to focus. “It sounds like someone counting?”

“Counting?” Lockwood repeated. “That’s odd.”

“It’s a woman, and she’s repeating herself. One…two…three…one…two…three.”

“Now, that makes a bit more sense,” Lockwood said.

“It does?”

“Sure. She’s not counting, she’s keeping time.”

All at once, a soft light flared into being in the very studio we’d been eyeing ever since we’d arrived. The light solidified into the form of a woman, tall and graceful. She stood with one knee slightly bent and her other leg stretched outwards, her arms extended in front of her with her hands elegantly crossed at the wrists, her head tilted slightly downwards. She wore toe shoes on her feet and a beautiful costume of silver and white, the bodice crafted of fine lace and the stiff tutu sparkling with gems and sequins in an intricate swirling pattern. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and a small tiara glittered on her head. She was absolutely lovely, and I was about to say so when the music began, and she started to dance.

If the Visitor’s physical appearance was beautiful, her dancing was utterly ethereal. She positively floated across the room, lifting herself up onto her toes, leaping, twirling, and everything in between. I’d never really been exposed to the arts all that much – my mother wasn’t exactly the cultural type, and once I’d moved to London, I’d spent most of my time chasing ghosts. I’d never seen anything like this before, and I was completely enchanted.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Lockwood said softly as we watched the woman dance.

“She is,” I agreed. “That music is quite pretty, do you know what it is?” The tune sounded vaguely familiar for some reason – perhaps I’d heard it on the radio or something.

“What music?” Lockwood asked. “Luce, there’s no music.”

“What? Yes, there is,” I insisted. “I can hear it plain as day, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t. There’s no…oh. _Oh.”_ In the glow of the Other-light, I saw Lockwood’s eyes widen a bit. “Of course I can’t hear it – it’s part of the haunting, isn’t it?”

“I think it must be,” I said. Lockwood may have the best Sight of any agent in London, but psychically, he’s completely deaf. We turned back to the ghost. She danced for another minute or so before the music faded and she drifted away into the far corner of the room. All was quiet for thirty seconds or so, then she reappeared in the same spot as before, the music came on, and she began her performance anew.

“That corner might be important,” Lockwood said as the ghost leapt gracefully across the floor. “And I think the music is, too. But there’s just one problem…”

“This studio doesn’t have any evidence of a sound system,” I finished. “The other three have remnants of wires and such, but there’s nothing like that here – either it was removed more completely than the rest, or there was never one here to begin with.”

“Which seems unlikely – bit hard to hold a dance class without music.” Lockwood looked thoughtful for a moment. “Luce, what does the music sound like?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “It sounds like an orchestra to me. I don’t really know anything beyond that, you know that.”

“No, no, sorry – I should’ve explained myself a bit better. Is there anything…unusual about it? Anything that might help us out?” I closed my eyes, concentrating on the music.

“It’s…a bit scratchy,” I said at last. “Like a poorly tuned radio…oh, and it just skipped a bit. That’s a bit more like a record player, isn’t it?”

“It is…but there isn’t a record player in this room.” There certainly wasn’t, nor was there really any place to put one. The music stopped again, the dancer fading into the far corner once more.

“That corner is _definitely_ important,” I said. “There’s got to be a reason that that’s her vanishing point.”

“So let’s go have a look, then,” Lockwood replied. The dancer had returned and had just begun her routine for the third time. No sooner had we stepped into the studio, however, did the ghost change course, appearing before us so suddenly that we had to jump back to avoid her. As soon as we were back in the hallway, she resumed her routine. We tried three or four more times, but we never got more than a few steps in before the ghost was aggressively shooing us out. Now we understood the previous teams’ difficulties.

“I don’t get it,” I said frustratedly as we jumped back to safety for the nth time. “Why won’t she let us in? What’s in there that she doesn’t want us to find?”

“I really don’t know…” Lockwood thought for a long moment. “Wait…no, it can’t be…”

“What can’t be what?” I asked.

“Luce, describe the music again, as best you can. You said you heard someone counting at the beginning, yeah? Can you imitate it?”

“Imitate it?”

“Yes, as exactly as you can.”

“Erm…alright? Give me a minute, I need to hear it again.” We waited until the ghost had finished her dance, and I concentrated hard.

“Yes, she’s definitely counting to three,” I said after a moment, “and she’s emphasizing the one. _One_ two three, _one_ two three, _one_ two three.”

“Excellent,” Lockwood said. “That’ll do nicely.”

“Do nicely?” I repeated. “Lockwood, what are you talking about?”

“Do you trust me, Luce?”

“Of course I do,” I said without hesitation. “You know that.”

“Good. I need you to trust me now, because we’re about to do something a bit mad. I think we need to dance our way across the room.”

I stared at him for a long moment.

“You _are_ mad,” I finally said. “Where’d you get _that_ idea?” Secretly, I wasn’t actually all that opposed to it, if it gave us an excuse to be close to one another, but I wasn’t about to tell _him_ that.

“Hear me out,” Lockwood said. “Someone – perhaps the Visitor, perhaps someone else – is counting out the steps before the dance begins. This whole place is a dance studio. Is it really so farfetched to think that doing what all the students who came before us have done just might work?”

“You do have a point,” I conceded. “There’s only one problem – I don’t know how to dance.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Lockwood said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll teach you. Obviously, we won’t be doing what she’s doing” – he nodded in the direction of the dancing ghost – “but that counting pattern is perfect for a basic waltz.” He stepped forward so he was directly in front of me.

“Give me your right hand, and place your left on my shoulder,” Lockwood said. I did as he instructed, his hand familiar and warm in my own. His free hand drifted to rest on my waist. I was glad it was dark – I could feel my cheeks turning pink.

“Now, we step like this – me forwards, you back.” Lockwood nudged the toe of my boot with his own so I’d know which foot to use, and we stepped.

“Excellent! Now to the side…”

We continued in this vein for several steps until we were roughly back where we’d started. I fumbled once or twice, but Lockwood obviously knew what he was doing, so the end result wasn’t half bad.

“Brilliant, Luce! Let’s try it again just to be sure you’ve got it.” We stepped, stepped, stepped, tracing the shape of a square on the floor. Lockwood beamed when we’d made it back to our starting point once more, his teeth bright even in our darkened setting.

“Brilliant!” he said again. “Now we just have to navigate around a dancing ghost and figure out where she’s stashed her Source. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, eh?” I think we both knew it had the potential to be a _lot_ of trouble, but I wasn’t about to spoil Lockwood’s fun, so I stayed silent. We watched the Visitor, waiting for her to finish her performance.

“You’ll have to count us in,” Lockwood said as we waited. “It’ll be easier for you if we’re at least somewhat in time with the music, and I can’t hear it.”

“Alright,” I said, trying not to let the nerves I felt creep into my tone. I wasn’t lying when I’d said I trusted Lockwood – I trusted him with my life. It was more that I wasn’t completely confident in myself, especially not when this was all so new. I could tackle Visitors with ease, but dancing? I was very much a beginner, and a quick lesson in a darkened corridor couldn’t change that. There were far too many ways this could go wrong.

“She’s gone,” Lockwood said then, drawing my attention back to the haunted studio. “Best get ready.” We got into position, standing just inside the studio’s entrance. From our previous attempts, this part of the room, at least, seemed safe. It was what would happen when we tried to venture further into the room that was the unknown. Then the sequence began.

_“One_ two three, _one_ two three, _one_ two three,” I recited, doing my best to keep a steady beat. I nodded when the music started, and we began to dance.

As far as dance experiences go, it certainly wasn’t the best, nor was it the calmest. My heart was pounding so loudly I swore Lockwood could probably hear it, and being the only person who could actually hear the music was incredibly nerve wracking. We also had to keep an eye out for the ghost, who most definitely used a great deal of the studio for her own performance. We ducked, rapidly changed direction, and once or twice, I only just managed to avoid stepping on Lockwood’s feet and sending us sprawling. In spite of it all, Lockwood somehow managed to semi-gracefully navigate us across the room. I made to let go of his hand, but he shook his head.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” he said. “She’s almost done with her routine; if we don’t move, she’ll reappear right on top of us. Our best bet is to stay close and make our move while she’s doing that bit with all the turns.” Having watched the ghost dancer as much as I had, I didn’t need to ask what he meant. There was a portion of choreography near the beginning of her dance that involved a truly impressive number of spins – and, arguably more importantly, said spins took place on the other side of the room from where we needed to be. We continued to dance in place, waiting with bated breath for the ghost to vanish and the cycle to begin again.

“Here we go,” I whispered as the counting began. The dancer shimmered into existence and began her routine.

“Let’s move,” Lockwood said. “She’s tied to that corner somehow, so there must be something there.” We danced our way over to the aforementioned corner. As soon as we stopped dancing, though, the Visitor was back.

“Looks like we’ll have to multitask,” I gasped as we quickly sprang back together. Just as before, as soon as we resumed dancing, the ghost returned to her own routine.

“Improvisation it is, then,” Lockwood declared. He lifted our linked hands over our heads and gestured for me to spin. “We’ll search while we dance.”

It was definitely one of the weirdest Source searches we’d ever done, and that was saying something. Lockwood and I worked our hands over the wall while simultaneously stepping, spinning, swaying, and anything else that might even remotely resemble a dance move. We’d long ago abandoned the formal waltz, but it seemed that as long as we were dancing, the ghost left us alone. Finding the Source, however…

“There’s got to be _something_ here!” I growled in frustration. “A hidden cupboard or a secret room or _something!”_ I shuffle-stepped as I talked, doing my best to make it seem like I was still dancing. I leaned against the back wall for a moment, wiping sweat from my brow with a free hand.

“We need to finish this soon. I’m exhausted.” I nearly tripped out of my shuffle-step just then, not because I was tired, but because the wall had suddenly moved. I quickly shuffle-stepped away and let the hidden door open properly. Inside, sitting on a small square table, was an old phonograph.

“This must be it!” I breathed. Not only was the phonograph glittering with cobwebs and the cupboard icy cold, but it would explain the scratchy quality of the ghost’s soundtrack.

“Watch it!” Lockwood’s warning came just in time, and I spun out of the way as the ghost completed her dance one last time.

“Silver net!” he said. He took my hand and spun me again, and I whipped a silver net from my belt with my free hand, the spin placing me directly before the hidden cupboard. With a flourish, I snapped the net open to its full size and carefully draped it over the phonograph. For a long moment, we waited to see if the ghost would return. After several agonizingly long breaths, however, enough time had passed that she would have already started up again, and we finally relaxed.

_“Brilliant,_ Luce,” Lockwood said. I leaned against the nearest mirror and slid to the floor.

“I’m so tired,” I replied. “Dancing is hard work.” Lockwood chuckled.

“That it is,” he agreed. “As soon as we get our things packed up, we can go home and go to bed, how’s that sound? The phonograph’s a bit big for us to take with us now, so we’ll come back for it in the morning. It’ll be safe ‘til then.” I couldn’t argue with that. We’d switched on our torches to take a better look at the hidden cupboard – it was so well crafted that, when the door was closed, the seam was virtually invisible. It was no wonder we hadn’t found it earlier.

“That sounds fabulous,” I agreed. Lockwood offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet.

“I’ll go ring for a cab,” he said. Then he grinned, bowed deeply over my hand, and added, “Thank you for this dance, milady.” Something soft brushed the backs of my fingers, and then he was gone. I blinked.

Had Lockwood just…?

No, it couldn’t be. I shook my head in disbelief. My tired brain must be hallucinating. Yes, that was it.

We gathered our things and sat on the curb outside the studio while we waited for our ride, and I finally had a chance to ask the question that had been on my mind half the evening.

“Lockwood,” I said, “where did you learn to dance?”

“Oh, that.” In the light of the nearest streetlamp, I could see him flush a little, and he sounded a little embarrassed. “Well, if you must know, my…my mum taught me.”

“Your mum?” I said, my tone softening a little. Lockwood so rarely spoke of his family, and I didn’t want to scare him off doing so now.

“Yeah. My sister took ballet lessons, you know, at a studio very much like this one. We’d just come back from one of her performances – I think I was about four at the time, and I remember being so fascinated by it. Jess’s costume was blue, and she just looked so pretty up there on the stage. She was a bit put out when I tried to recreate her dance in the living room, though. She was complaining all over the place, trying to get me to stop, but Mum just laughed and said I could dance with her instead if I wanted to. She taught me the box step by having me stand on her feet – I was so little it hardly bothered her – and we danced all over the place until I was so tired, I could hardly stand.” Lockwood laughed softly. “Jess used to dance with me occasionally as well, after our parents were gone, when either of us needed a bit of cheering up, but that was how I learned. I practiced the box step constantly for days after that.”

Having seen a photograph of Lockwood’s parents, I could vaguely imagine the scene, little Lockwood standing on his mum’s toes, his head barely reaching her waist, a mix of curiosity, concentration, and unbridled joy on his face as she taught him to dance. It was an unbelievably sweet image.

“That’s very sweet,” I told him. “Thank you for sharing it with me – and for teaching me in turn.”

“Perhaps we’ll have a chance to dance again, sometime,” Lockwood said. There was a strange sort of expression in his eyes, a slight intensity mixed with something I couldn’t identify. Maybe I hadn’t been hallucinating earlier after all.

“Perhaps we will.”

The cab arrived just then, ending our conversation for the time being. We hauled our things into the boot, crawled into the backseat, and settled in for the ride home.

* * *

The phonograph, as it turns out, had belonged to the studio’s founder and had been used in the elite dance classes right up until the studio’s closing. We never did find out exactly who our ghost dancer was, but we were glad to have finally given her a chance to rest in peace.


	2. Part II: Portland Row

Number 35, Portland Row had been quiet for most of the afternoon, but that changed quickly as the family of four returned home, laughing and smiling as they shed coats and shoes in the entryway.

“Now, let’s get those lovely flowers in some water, shall we?” Celia Lockwood said to her daughter Jessica. The family had just returned from Jessica’s latest ballet recital, the flowers a congratulatory present for a job well done. Jessica’s younger brother, Anthony, had insisted on handing her the flowers himself, even though the bouquet was nearly half his size.

“Lovely flowers for a lovely dancer,” a deep voice chimed in. It was Celia’s husband Donald, and he grinned broadly as he swept his daughter off her feet and swung her through the air. The rest of the Lockwoods were all dressed nicely – Donald in a suit and tie, Celia in her best cream dress, and Anthony in a blue shirt and dark trousers – but Jessica was still wearing her dancing costume, a velvety bodice in a deep shade of cobalt connected to a floaty skirt the color of the sky. A little crown of white flowers stood out against her dark hair. “We’re proud of you, Jess.” He pressed a swift kiss to the top of her head and set her back down again.

“I want to help!” Anthony declared. Celia smiled at her young son. At just over four years old, he was normally such an active, energetic child, but when it came to his sister’s recitals, he was utterly transfixed, sitting quietly in his seat with his full attention on the stage. He’d tugged on his mother’s sleeve and whispered, “She’s so pretty!” when Jessica’s class had made their entrance, and he’d never taken his eyes off his sister for as long as she was onstage. Jessica was six years older than Anthony – it was sweet how much he idolized her.

“Of course you can help, darling!” Celia told him. “But we must be very careful. Why don’t you let Mummy fill the vase, and you can tell me where to put it?” In response, Anthony smiled broadly, clambered up into his chair at the kitchen table, and pointed at a spot somewhat in the middle.

“Right here, Mummy!” he said.

“Alright, love.” The vase went in exactly the spot he’d indicated, and everyone declared it perfect.

“How about some tea, then?” Celia said. “I’m sure everyone’s a bit hungry after all this excitement.” The children readily agreed, and Celia set about putting together a platter of little sandwiches and snacks, as well as tea for the adults and juice for the children. The little family then gathered in the living room to enjoy the snack.

Halfway through a sandwich, Anthony decided, “I want to dance, too!” He dropped the rest of the sandwich on his plate, stood, and did a little twirl, but he was a bit too enthusiastic and nearly fell over. Undeterred, he tried again, this time only just avoiding the edge of the sofa.

“Anthony, that’s not how you do it!” Jessica said. “It’s like _this!”_ She stood and twirled far more gracefully than her brother had done, standing on tiptoe with her arms lifted over her head. Anthony spun once more and actually did fall over the time, landing right on his backside. Deciding to abandon twirling for now, he got up again and tried leaping, his little limbs all over the place as he moved this way and that.

_“Mu-um!”_ Jessica whined, no longer amused by her brother’s antics. “Anthony’s doing it all wrong, make him stop!”

“Jessica, be nice to your brother,” her father warned. Anthony had stopped dancing and his smile had become a frown, his lower lip trembling.

“But-”

“Jess, love, he just wants to be like you,” Celia explained gently. “Maybe he can’t quite get it right just yet, but remember that you’ve had lots of practice. You should feel special that he looks up to you like he does.” Turning to Anthony, she added, “It’s alright, sweetheart. Come here, now.” Anthony hurried over and buried his face in his mother’s shoulder, accepting the proffered hug. She kissed his forehead and pulled him up onto her lap.

“There, now. Everything’s alright, yeah? Let’s let your sister enjoy her special moment – but maybe you’d like to dance with Mummy instead?” Anthony’s smile returned, and Celia smiled back.

“There we go. Up you get, and Mummy will teach you how to dance. Girls love a man who can dance, you know.” She winked before leaning down and adding in a stage whisper, “Maybe Daddy should practice with Jess – he’s not very good.”

“Hey, now!” Donald protested playfully. “We managed well enough at our wedding, didn’t we?”

“You only stepped on my feet twice, so I suppose it could’ve been worse,” Celia said with a grin. Jessica and Anthony both giggled.

“And we’re still here, and you somehow manage to love me anyway,” Donald replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Are you going to step on my feet too, Daddy?” Jessica asked, her eyes wide.

“Oh, don’t listen to your mum’s horror stories,” Donald said. He paused. “Alright, so maybe she’s right – I’m not the best dancer. But if I do step on your feet, you can step on mine right back.” He stood up and bowed dramatically. “May I have this dance, milady?” Jessica giggled again.

“I suppose you may, good sir,” she replied in her best attempt at sounding posh. The effect was rather ruined when she burst into laughter yet again.

“Now, my handsome little man,” Celia said to Anthony. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Anthony smiled at the playful sparkle in his mother’s dark eyes.

“Yes, Mummy.” He hopped off her lap and hurried to an empty space near the window, then turned and held out his arms in invitation, waiting for his mother to follow. On the other side of the room, he could see his sister and father dancing together, Jess’s tutu floating out around her like a cloud.

“Alright, my love,” Celia said. “Mummy’s going to teach you how to do a box step.”

“A box? Like a toybox?” Anthony asked, confusion evident on his face. Celia chuckled.

“Not like a toybox, no,” she said. “It’s called that because you step in the shape of a box – like a square.”

“Ooooh. A square looks like this.” Anthony held up a chubby hand and traced the shape in midair. Celia smiled.

“Very good! Now, stand on my feet, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Stand on your feet? Won’t I hurt you, Mummy?”

“Not at all, sweetheart. Come, come.” Celia held out her hands, and Anthony tentatively stepped forward and placed his sock-clad feet on top of hers.

“There we go. Now, your hands go here” – she placed his hands on her waist, which he could just barely reach – “and mine go here.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “And…one, two, three, one, two, three…” Celia slowly began to move in time with her counting – back, side, side, forward, side, side, back, side, side, forward, side, side.

“Mummy, we’re dancing!” Anthony cried, his face breaking into a wide smile.

“We certainly are!” Celia laughed. “And look how good you are already!”

“Better than Daddy?”

“Of course!” Anthony grinned again.

“Daddy!” he called across the room. “Mummy says I’m better than you!” Donald laughed.

“Is that so?” He paused his dance with Jessica and watched his wife and son.

“Oh, dear,” he said after a moment. “You’ve stolen your mum away from me, haven’t you?” He grinned at his son.

“My mummy,” Anthony said, wrapping his arms around Celia in a possessive hug. Donald laughed again.

“Alright, I give up,” he said. “She’s all yours, son.” He winked at Celia, who laughed in turn and shook her head fondly.

“Now, let’s try a spin, shall we?”

They continued dancing for some time, perfecting their box step and throwing in a few little spins and dips just for fun. Eventually, though, the smile on Anthony’s face split into an enormous yawn.

“Somebody’s all worn out,” Celia said with a chuckle, scooping her son into her arms. He let out a little sigh and snuggled into her shoulder.

“Don’t wanna stop,” he murmured. Celia laughed lightly.

“I’m not sure you can still stand up, love,” she whispered. “We can dance some more tomorrow, alright?”

“It’s been an exciting day, hasn’t it?” Donald said as he came up beside them. Celia smiled.

“That is has. Where’s Jess?”

“Upstairs, getting ready for bed. I told her to mind the tutu when she takes off her costume.”

“I’m sure it’ll get some good use in the dress-up box,” Celia agreed. “Now, let’s get this one to bed.” Anthony was already half asleep, and she and Donald carefully made their way up the stairs into his room. He was a dead weight by the time they reached the attic. Somehow, they managed to wrangle him into his pajamas and under the covers without waking him. Above his bed, suspended from the ceiling since he’d outgrown his crib, was the iron mobile of zoo animals, Smiley Giraffe and all the others ready to keep watch as he slept. Celia tucked a well-loved stuffed bear in beside her sleeping son and bent to give him a kiss.

“Sleep well, Anthony,” she whispered. “You’re Mummy’s favorite new dancing partner.” Anthony murmured something in his sleep, hugged the bear close, and rolled over, already halfway to dreamland.

“Favorite new dancing partner, eh?” Donald chuckled quietly as they headed downstairs to say goodnight to Jessica. Celia smiled.

“Bested by a four-year-old, my love,” she said cheekily.

“Perhaps we ought to practice as well,” Donald suggested. Celia smiled again, softer this time, and reached up a hand to rest gently on the sapphire gleaming at her throat.

“Perhaps we ought to, yes.”

Number 35, Portland Row had been quiet for most of the afternoon, and it was quiet again now that two excited children had settled down to sleep. It wasn’t entirely still, though – that night, passersby who were paying attention might catch the silhouette of a young couple swaying gently back and forth in the front room, lost in each other and all the love their home contained.

…and if the man occasionally stepped on the woman’s toes, the woman laughing lightly in response, it just made the moment all the more perfect.


End file.
